Interconnected

Link to video of this sermon: https://youtu.be/B5CAUBslKBo

 

Clare L. Hickman

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale

January 23, 2022—Epiphany 3C

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; Psalm 19; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-21

 

          Good news for the poor, release for the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and freedom for the oppressed. This is the core of the Gospel, rooted in the Hebrew prophets and their vision of what God desires the world to be. And it is, clearly, VERY good news for the poor, and the captive, and the blind, and the oppressed.

          But what if you’re none of those things? I’m not any of those things. Not really. Yes, there are ways in which we are ALL spiritually poor, or held captive by something, or unable to see; and Jesus was definitely concerned about those sorts of things too. But when it comes to the face value, literal way that this passage is proclaimed and intended to be true, it’s not about me.[i]

          And if I really dig deep into that—if I dig past my somewhat glib conviction that of course I understand and celebrate this fact, of course I recognize that those who have the least should be given the most, of course the good news showers most abundantly on those who’ve seen the least of this world’s good fortune—if I dig past that, I also discover a small part of me (a not very healthy or attractive part of me) that is just a bit scared of what that will mean for me, and a bit … jealous of what that means about my standing in the kingdom of God.

          It’s good news, this release of the captives and all that. But it’s good news that seems (in many ways) to be for other people. Which is more frightening than I’d like to admit. Because it turns out I have a hard time accepting the idea that my salvation isn’t just about me.

          (isn’t it supposed to be about me?)

Actually, no it’s not. Think about it: Jesus constantly refers to the kingdom of God. His vision of salvation is of a nation, a society, a community that has been transformed by the ways of God. Which means that salvation cannot be purely individual. Which means that none of us is truly prosperous, or healed, or free until we are ALL prosperous, healed and free.

          Because we are all members of one body, as Paul points out. His central intention here is to push back against the members of the church in Corinth who are rejecting their equality in Christ and trying to reassert hierarchies, according to their spiritual gifts. Last week we heard him remind them that everyone has different gifts, and they’re all good and all important. This week, though, he binds them even more closely together. There’s still something in there about honorable and less honorable, by which he reinforces the point about NOT trying to set yourself above someone else. But the image of the body also emphasizes a deeper spiritual reality: that we are all dependent on one other. A body, after all, is an interdependent system, in which the health of one part supports the health of the whole, and the neglect of any part will affect all of the other parts.

          We need each other. We affect each other. We are bound together like that, as though we were parts of the same body. As much as we might wall ourselves off from each other, in ways both figurative and literal, we are connected. Which means that the kingdom of God has not come for us (salvation has not come for us) when there are still members of our body who are impoverished and in need of food and shelter; blind and in need of healing; imprisoned or oppressed, and needing to be freed.

          We need each other. We affect each other. Our salvation is bound up together, because the salvation Jesus is constantly describing is the salvation of a community, the transformation of a community into one in which we live out that truth that we are all part of the same body. All of us. Even those you disdain because you are secretly sure that they are MUCH less aware of this bound-together truth than you are. Which may or may not be true, but it isn’t something Jesus is interested in having you dwell on. What other people need to do to get right with God is between them and God. Your job, our job, is to examine your own heart, and your own actions, and your own lived commitment to the reality of the Body of Christ in which we live. In which we are connected. In which our salvation is lived out, in fearful and wonderful ways.

          The Good News is good news for all, whether the proclamations name your particular situation or not. Because the world they describe is the Kingdom of God, which is liberation and holiness and actual prosperity for all. It’s what a truly healthy body looks like. It’s GOOD. NEWS.

And maybe, if we can really take that in, we might begin to understand why the people of Israel wept with joy when they heard Ezra read the Torah. Because they heard in there a similar kind of good news, that spoke of a transformed community. And because they heard God invite them into this holy, life-giving work.

Which is the other thing that eases my secret fear that this good news doesn’t seem to be about me. Not only is it true that the healing and liberation of others is healing and liberation for me, but the work itself makes me part of it all.

I recently came across an image for God that brought this home to me. With it, author David Brin seeks to go beyond the metaphor of a human father to see what might be learned from the image of a world mother as well.

A living planet, he suggests, is a more complex metaphor for deity. “If an omniscient, all-powerful [father] ignores your prayers, [you might take it] personally. Hear only silence long enough, and you start wondering about his power. His fairness. His very existence. But if a world mother doesn't reply, her excuse is simple. … She has countless others clinging to her apron strings, including myriad species unable to speak for themselves. To her elder offspring She says - go raid the fridge. Go play outside. Go get a job. Or, better yet, lend me a hand. I have no time for idle whining."

I like that. This is a voice of God that can speak some tough love to that stunted child inside me, who worries what place she has in God’s plan to turn the world upside down. “You aren’t one of the oppressed that I’ve come to set free?” she asks. “So stop crying and be grateful for that! Then come lend me a hand, because we’ve got a lot of work to do. But trust me, my dear, this is gonna be GOOD!”

The work belongs to all of us. And the salvation is for all of us. Because we are all one body, and the health and happiness of one part cannot be separated from the health and happiness of another. May we know it to be so. Amen.


[i] Sermon Brainwave, podcast episode 825. Third Sunday after Epiphany (Ord. 3C)—Jan. 23 2022

Clare Hickman